Blinking, he stood abruptly, dragging his chair back across the lino with a grating drone. He leant in close to Rex’s face, tasted his morphine breath. They spoke a while longer in near whispers until Manolis swished the curtain.

‘Rest up, old friend,’ he said. ‘It was good to see you.’

Without another word, Rex watched him leave.

MANOLIS DROVE TO the station in Sparrow’s Ford sedan, the passenger seat still stained dark with Rex’s trauma blood. He found Kerr manning the front desk, looking bored, quietly writing reports. The sight of Manolis made her smile, adjust her ponytail. Approaching the counter, he was cautious, almost self-conscious.

‘They pick him up?’ he asked, referring to correctional officers and her former boss.

‘Yeah, the screws are transferring him now.’

‘Good.’ Manolis was satisfied. The thin blue line, while not entirely restored, had at least been outlined. Detective Inspector Porter had been very pleased to receive Manolis’s recent phone call, and with the final outcome of the case. Those higher up were less impressed; a mess now needed to be cleaned up.

‘What about Omari’s widow and daughter?’ Manolis asked.

‘They’re with a host family in a safe house.’ Kerr gave him the address. ‘Physically, they’re doing well, eating and drinking. But still overcome with grief. The social workers visit each day. Fortunately, there’s strong community support, they’re rallying behind them.’

Manolis’s eyes softened. ‘I’ll try to drop in on my way back to the city to check on them. And then do the same for Fyfe, deliver some flowers and chocolates.’

‘No flies on you, eh, sport,’ she said, folding her arms.

Manolis lifted his shoulders. ‘I have my job, my family. And you do too.’

‘But we need a new sergeant…’ Her words were earnest.

He came around the counter. She uncrossed her arms, let them fall by her sides. He extended his hand. She looked at it, at him, took it, shook. After a moment of awkwardness, they hugged. He smelt her shampoo, eucalyptus and tea-tree extract. He let go first. She held on a little longer.

He wanted to explain things. To talk about how returning home had made him fully appreciate his immigrant roots and wild refugee blood. To say how naïve he’d been in not imagining how this case would challenge his values and beliefs. He felt angry and ashamed at what he’d witnessed, as if he was unknowingly part of some perverse social experiment. He wanted to mention his son and wife and how much they meant to him.

But something stopped Manolis from saying anything, the words turning to dust in his throat.

‘I reckon you’ll do fine,’ he said instead. ‘You’re ready, and I’ll make sure that’s very clear in my report.’

The hint of a smile appeared on her lips, her eyes half-closing.